


How To Break A Fever

by Lani



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M, There Is Only One Bed, trope as old as time, you know what's better than one guilt-stricken boy? two guilt-stricken boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 02:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21091709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lani/pseuds/Lani
Summary: Julian makes a house call to a very reluctant patient, deep in the woods.





	1. What The Wolf Dragged In

A twig snapped under his boot. The sound reverberated around him briefly, only to be muffled by the thick of foliage and underbrush. His ears strained for any follow-ups; a disturbed bird call, a rustle of leaves announcing the departure of one silent watcher or other. But no, the woods remained as eerily quiet as they had been ever since he had set foot in them. It wasn’t a welcoming silence, rather an expectant one. The air seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see what his purpose was. It was easy to imagine that one misstep, one unwittingly broken rule, would instantly cause the entire biosphere to turn against him. Tree branches whipping down to accost him, crows coming to pick out his eyes, wolves on his heels. That sort of thing. He didn’t know the next thing about magic, of course, which only furthered his wariness. These woods were old and patient, but he didn’t think that this impersonal brand of tolerance extended to him.

Julian straightened out his shoulders and renewed his grip on the leather bag he was toting around. At least it wasn’t raining. Not like the sky was making any promises, though. With a suppressed huff, a breath stuck squarely in his throat, he vaulted a fallen tree trunk, its barkless wood slick with moisture. This place was a maze, and nightfall was creeping ever closer. With his luck he’d be stuck out here when darkness hit, having achieved nothing but a few added scratches and bruises to his shins. There wasn’t even a path to follow. He had to trust his gut and the halfhearted directions he had been given by Asra.

He had half a mind to turn back, accept defeat and face the witch’s cold disdain with whatever scraps of dignity he had left. Despite that tempting train of thought, Julian pressed on. If there was someone sick out in these woods, he couldn’t just abandon them to their fate on grounds of comfort. Asra wouldn’t have sent him on this wild goose chase for nothing. Or maybe he would have. Maybe getting people hopelessly lost in a forest was his idea of ‘hilarious’. Well, not people, per sé, but Julian in particular. Yes, this was exactly the sort of place you would send an annoying, good-for-nothing failure of a—Julian froze. His eye widened slightly as he strained to make out shapes in the milky grey around him. Something up ahead was moving behind the trees.

“Hello?” His voice wobbled slightly but he pushed through. “Show yourself, come on.” Even as he spoke, Julian found his mind bombarded with memories of the tales Mazelinka used to tell him to frighten the daylights out of him. Forgotten souls, roaming the woods in search for bodies, hulking beasts with glowing eyes, stalking lost wanderers for hours until they were so panicked and exhausted that they went mad with fear. A flat laugh bubbled up in his throat. Nonsense. It was probably nothing. He was getting worked up over a wayward squirrel or something. Yes, a squirrel, or a hare, or some other small, furry, utterly harmless forest critter. Absolutely.

That was the exact moment the wolf struck. A furious snarl curled in the beast’s chest as it charged, two rows of dagger-teeth aiming for his face. “Oh fuck!” Julian stumbled back, nearly losing his balance as his body scrambled away. He jerked up his arm in an instinctive attempt to shield his head. He didn’t have time for anything else. The next second he was knocked prone, an oppressive weight standing on his chest, claws digging through his shirt and into his skin. The wolf’s growl was all around him, so loud it was drowning out his thoughts. His dagger! Where was his goddamn dagger? A stick would do! Anything! He groped uselessly at the leaf-strewn mulchy ground in search for a weapon, some last-ditch effort. But the sharp, world-ending pain of two jaws clamping around his neck never came.

He found himself pinned to the ground, a dull ache spreading through the back of his skull, but he was not the least bit mauled. The wolf was looming over him as a feral specter, its yellow eyes peering pitilessly down at him. He felt its hot wet breath, reeking of some other, more unfortunate prey, as it brushed against his hair. A drop of saliva splattered on his chin. Before Julian could get his bearings, the animal lowered its head and sniffed at his collar. Once, then twice. The snarling ebbed and finally stopped altogether. The wolf simply looked down at him, its muzzle softening, as if it were recognizing him, or his scent. Perplexed, he watched as his would-be killer let up, and sat back on its haunches in front of him, a low whine building in its throat.

Julian propped himself up, aghast, but all but high on relief. “Okay? We’re good?” He asked as if the wolf was inclined to clarify its decision on the matter. When there was no change in the canid, he made to sit up, carefully testing this new agreement not to behave like animals. “Well,” He quipped breathlessly. “Thank you for your consideration. I will just… be going now.” With that he struggled to his feet, wiping the dirt off his face.

As he bent down to pick up his doctor’s bag, the wolf let out a soft bark, more of a huff. He glanced back at it, “What? There are no treats in there, unless you consider leeches a delicacy.” God, he really was spending too much time in this forest. Now he was trying to strike up conversation with a wolf. In the commotion, the sun had managed to slink past the treetops unseen, like a fugitive on the run. Julian was about to give the wolf a wide berth and get going, his thoughts now turning from reaching his destination to finding shelter for the night. But the wolf had different plans. It caught him by the sleeve of his coat and tugged.

“I can’t stay to play with you,” Julian explained impatiently. “Be a good boy and go home.” His sleeve was tugged again, harder this time. The wolf whined, insistently, sounding almost as impatient as Julian himself. This time it didn’t let him go. It started walking backwards as if to drag him by force. And that creature sure had a lot of force in it! He stumbled to catch his balance as he was pulled along. Later he would not be able to explain his reasoning to himself but something in the wolf’s eyes caught his attention. They were staring straight at him, gleaming with uncanny intelligence. And something, somehow, was familiar about them.

“Okay, I—Yes, I’m coming.” He caught up with his unexpected companion as that one bounded up ahead. Maybe it knew of a cave or a burrow where he could spend the night. It was at least the only other living soul he had seen in this forest so far, and he would be a fool to turn his back on it. He followed the tip of a tail through the descending dark, hurrying through the underbrush and ducking under low-hanging branches. A wayward twig sliced at his cheek and he hissed a curse. The moisture in the air had thickened to a cold drizzle that prickled on his skin. Only when he threatened to lose the trail completely did the wolf circle back to check on him. But even if his destination was uncertain at best, they were making good headway.

Finally the wolf’s loping gallop had slowed to a trot and they were approaching what looked like a small clearing. Julian panted after it, shivering from the wet chill that had slipped its fingers under his shirt. To his surprise he could smell a faint waft of smoke coming from up ahead. No way anyone was living out here, except… Suddenly it dawned on him. He looked at the wolf.

“Did Asra send you?” He asked. The wolf gave no response but a flick of its ear and continued stoically on its way past the tree line. When Julian finally stepped into the clearing he was met with a dismal sight. There was a hut, yes. But it was little more than a ramshackle pile of mortar and rough-hewn bricks. The structure was half hidden, half strangled by the thick roots of a gnarled tree. He couldn’t imagine anyone choosing this as their shelter if they had another choice. The distant rumble of thunder reminded Julian that he hadn’t. 

He slowly crept up to the hut and found that while the walls were in decrepit condition, the door was well kept and sturdy. Someone had to be looking after its upkeep. This had to be his mystery patient then. What were the odds of _two_ hermits living in one forest? He steeled himself and rapped his gloved knuckles against the wooden door. The wolf waited behind him, tail wagging gingerly in anticipation. When there was no response from inside, he tried the handle. One hearty push was all it took for the door to swing open into musky warmth and the glow of dim embers. His furry companion rushed past him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, so Julian decided to follow suit. When in the woods, do as the wolves.

The hut’s inside was a far cry from an improvement on its exterior. It was cramped, not on account of its interior decorating but due to the narrow space. Below, there was nothing but a dirt floor and above the roof had been torn into by more roots, their tips raining a fine sheen of earth and dust down into the room. At least the ceiling was surprisingly high. He didn’t have to duck his head at all. A last flame was dying in the fireplace and shone its meek light on a heap of furs in the far corner. The wolf sat next to what seemed to be a bed of sorts and nosed into the dark mass. From within the nest a low grunt answered the nuzzling wet nose, followed by a muffled cough. Julian suddenly came to the staggering realization that this was by no means a pile of discarded covers and furs, but a person.

“The doctor is in,” Julian announced himself with a flourish, hoping to rouse his host. If this was a friend of Asra’s, it couldn’t be all that bad. A flinch went through the furs, followed by a sudden upward shift. The covers slipped down, revealing a naked torso. Julian’s eye widened in unabashed awe. The figure that emerged from the fur blankets was a mountain of a man. Strings of thick muscle tensed under a jagged pattern of pale scars, spanning broad shoulders and a slowly heaving chest. Julian’s gaze was momentarily caught by the glint of metal amidst the composition of fur and skin. A broken chain dangled from the man’s throat, locked to a ring that was worked into a thick protective collar. The same could be said for his wrists. Chains there, too. Julian briefly thought of a wild beast that had escaped captivity by brute force.

He looked further up, at the stranger’s face. And nearly recoiled from the sheer hostility he saw. Framed by mussed up, unceremoniously sliced off, black hair, the man’s green glare felt like a physical punch to the gut. “Get out,” His voice was hoarse and weak from restless sleep, but its gravely rumble reminded Julian so much of a feral growl that he was shocked by it all the same. Hell, he’d sooner take his chances with the wolf again. Julian gulped but before he could think of a retort, he was interrupted by the stranger who pitifully succumbed to a coughing fit. Each hacking cough sounded worse than the last until Julian was certain that this guy was tearing up his own throat in the process. He was surprised not to find bloody spittle on the ground.

The man seemed hellbent on getting up despite this. He had barely begun to rise to his feet when a strangely hollow expression flitted across his face, momentarily erasing the hateful stare. All color drained from his cheeks and he took a deep breath. Oh no. Julian knew that look. He rushed forward to catch the other before he could collapse on the floor. The wolf was instantly on its feet, snarling viciously. But even the animal seemed to understand that there was no way around it. Julian kept his focus on the fainting man. His feet skidded across the floor as he braced them against the falling weight. He had to use all his strength to press against the other’s frame and quickly found himself enveloped by the feverish heat of a body burning itself up. The scent of sweat and musk filled his nose, followed by a gentler note of myrrh. Something in the back of his mind stirred briefly, only to be drowned out by more acute responsibilities.

“Woah there, big guy. Slowly now. There we go. Easy does it.” Julian did his best to guide him back down onto the bed which creaked unhappily under the renewed pressure. The man was panting softly, his arms propped up on his knees. He was wearing a fur kilt over a pair of dark fabric pants, which Julian noted with abstract disappointment. It was difficult to marry the concept of a man of such stature and physique to the reality of the exhaustion and sickness that had taken hold of him. The wolf rested its head on his thigh and licked his hand.

“So that’s your wolf?” Julian tried to spark a new exchange, preferably one that wouldn’t get him kicked out into the approaching thunderstorm. “He’s very clever. He led me all the way here.”

“She.” Came the sullen response from below the thick curtain of hair. “And she’s not ‘my wolf’. She’s an acquaintance.” Another cough followed, stifled now, as if he was ashamed of the display of weakness. For all his intimidating demeanor, he looked almost embarrassed to be in company at all.

“Well, you should thank her. You’re clearly in need of some medical assistance and without her I would still be wandering around in the woods. You’re a hard man to find, uhm… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

There was a long pause, a silence swelling with tension that bordered on exasperation. Then the man spoke, very quietly, as if admitting defeat: “Muriel.”

“Why, it’s a pleasure, Muriel. Yours truly is called Doctor Julian Devorak. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.” Everyone had heard of him. Julian tried to sell himself with one of his trademark roguish smirks. It went decidedly unnoticed. “I come in peace, I promise. Asra sent me. He’s a friend of yours, no?”

Muriel looked neither impressed nor interested. Only the mention of the magician elicited any kind of acknowledgement from him; a sardonic scoff, by the sound of it. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“I beg to differ. You have a fever, and a cold, and that cough you got there is reaching a worrying volume. I know just the thing--” He reached out his hand.

“Inanna can take you back to the city. Go away. You’re not welcome.”

Julian stopped again, now visibly put out. He glanced at the wolf, Inanna, as if to ask for some support. No wonder Asra couldn’t be bothered to check in on his supposed friend himself. Muriel clearly was not the social sort. Julian watched, one thick brow half-cocked, as the broad frame of his reluctant charge began wiggling back under the furs. Perhaps it was the sickness sapping his strength but for all his lumbering muscle mass, Muriel moved with a self-consciousness that belied any destructive air. He seemed painfully aware of his dimensions. When he noticed that Julian was still staring at him, he all but shrunk into himself, the dusky skin on his cheeks darkening with a flush that had little to do with his temperature.

He geared up to speak but halted when lightning flashed through the cracks in the roof, shortly followed by a clap of thunder. Julian glanced upward, suddenly concerned with the integrity of their shelter. A second of silence ticked by. Then, all at once, the rain started. A blanket of white noise engulfed the hut. The wood creaked and groaned under the onslaught of water and wind. Only a heartless monster would send someone out into a storm like that, surely. Muriel was coming to the same conclusion, it seemed.

Inanna stalked towards the fireplace on stiff legs, giving Julian enough room so not to bump into him. There she lay down and stretched, trying to glean some warmth from the dying embers. Muriel’s eyes closed under the canopy of a darkening frown, as if he suddenly found himself beleaguered by a vicious headache.

“How about I get a nice fire going for us?” Julian suggested, trying and failing to look like he hadn’t just won a victory on grounds of mere pity. He wasn’t entirely sure why this was even a battle he was fighting. So what if this oddball didn’t want his help? He had only been doing Asra a favor anyway. He was hardly looking for any more fruitless work. But on the other hand, Muriel was suffering from something more than food poisoning or a bad hangover. He had felt his pulse and temperature when he had had his cheek pressed against his chest before. He wasn’t even strong enough to stand, for crying out loud. Julian couldn’t bring himself to turn his back on someone in so obvious need, whether they wanted him to or not. If Muriel were to die, and Julian had done nothing to stop it… No, he wouldn’t have that on his conscience, too. He refused.

“When the storm is over,” Muriel croaked. “You’re leaving when the storm is over in the morning.”

“_If_ the storm is over,” Julian corrected him cheerfully. He wandered over to the fireplace and collected an armful of dry logs that were waiting beside it. “_And_ if you haven’t fallen in love with me by then.”

“What.”

“What?” Julian winked, both to see if he could further unbalance Muriel’s hostile act and to show that he had meant no ill will by it. Just a joke. Surely Muriel had heard a joke before. If he had, he didn’t care to let that experience inform his responses.

Muriel eyed him warily over the edge of his pelt, which he had successfully pulled up all the way over his nose. His glare was significantly softened by the tired red rimmed expression it carried. It wasn’t enough to dampen Julian’s enthusiasm. He fussed with the logs and poker until he managed to stoke the flames to a merrily crackling fire. At once the chilly dark of the hut evaporated and instead bloomed with a warm homely glow. Julian hurried to warm his hands and allow his damp coat to dry. Once it was warm enough in the small space, he took it off altogether to hang it over the singular rickety chair that stood by a small kitchen table. All the while he kept glancing at the hulking shape that cowered in the makeshift nest of furs and quilts. Every once and again, Muriel shifted uncomfortably and coughed to himself. Inanna seemed equally attentive to her companion’s state.

“So you don’t want me to cure your fever. Suit yourself. How about I give you a sleeping drought instead?” Julian finally suggested as he rummaged through his bag to make sure its contents had survived the rough and tumble journey. “First sample on the house.”

“No.” Came the expected answer, hoarse from the strain of hacking away under those blankets, no doubt.

“You would be terrible at improv theater.” Julian pulled out a small flask, shaking it against the light. The milky liquid inside swirled lazily. “At least give it a try. You’ll feel better after a night’s rest. I know I would, if I rested at night.”

“I sleep fine.” Muriel insisted despite the thick dark circles under his eyes. He’d cut a fine enough figure if he weren’t completely ravaged by this sickness. Somewhere behind this death mask lay a sullen but handsome young face. To think that all it would take was a touch… But Inanna was keeping a watchful eye and Julian was not yet convinced that if he reached out his hand towards Muriel without explicit consent, he wouldn’t lose it.

“Ahem. I’ll leave it here, then.” Julian compromised and set the flask on the ground next to Muriel’s bed. “You’re a big lad so… You can probably drink all of it without worry. Truth be told, it’s nothing special. Just a bit of poppy and valerian, mixed with silver birch.”

There was no response. Or rather: no answer. Muriel was in fact very eager to show him exactly what he thought of that offer. With a look so sour it’d make milk curdle, the tall man rolled over onto his back and then to face the wall. Speak of a cold shoulder.

Julian was granted no access to any furs, let alone bedding. Well, he’d had worse. The steady roar of rain on the roof, briefly interspersed with rolling thunder, had a soothing quality, and the air was warming up quickly now with three bodies and a lively fire in the hut. A medical bag could double as a pillow and his coat would make a passable blanket. Tomorrow he’d try to make some actual progress with this Muriel character.


	2. Bedside Manner

The morning came, as expected, as a drizzly grey blanket that sludged across the sky. The weight of the cloud cover didn’t allow for a single sunbeam to brighten the grim wooden interior of the hut. In such pale, indifferent lighting, it looked even less inviting than it had the evening before. Julian figured he was lucky enough that it hadn’t broken down overnight. The fire had died at some point or other, leaving behind a stale chill. He could feel where the cold had seeped into his muscles and hardened them. With a low groan and a few spirited acrobatics, he tried to set his back until a tell-tale crack somewhere in his spine punished him for his hubris.

A rustle on the other side of the cabin announced that he was not the only one woken by the dingy light. Julian scrambled to his feet, trying to shake the sleep out of his gangly limbs. A limp arm was hanging out of the nest of furs and blankets, half on the floor. Naturally the arm was not on its own. It was attached to a broad shoulder that disappeared under the covers. Julian could just make out the top of a messy head of black hair. Had he stumbled into the lair of a mountain man? That guy was huge. How on earth had he been able to slink past him in the night? Because he certainly hadn’t been here before Julian had bedded down. He felt a twinge of gratitude that this stranger, meager as his living conditions were, had clearly not minded a temporary house guest upon his return. Of course. This must be that friend Asra had been talking about. Julian’s pulse steadily calmed again.

The wolf was also still there, curled up by the feet of the stranger which dangled over the edge of the bed. Now she was slowly lifting her head off her paws to fix him with an inquisitive stare. Inanna, he recalled suddenly. The wolf had a name and it was Inanna. But for the life of his, he couldn’t remember where he had learned that information. She had hardly told him herself.

Julian watched as the sleeper sluggishly retrieved his arm. A single eye cracked open, adding its glare to the wolf’s. Under so much silent scrutiny, he buckled like a house of cards. “So, you’re probably wondering why I am in here,” He began, hands open and raised to show he was unarmed and harmless. “Inanna brought me here, and I wasn’t very keen on camping outside what with that storm last night. I thought I could just sleep in here. My name is Julian. I’m a doctor. _The_ doctor, some might say. Asra sent me to check on you.”

His barrage of words clashed into a wall of silence. With how heavily obscured the stranger’s face was, Julian couldn’t even tell if he had audibly registered what he had just said. There was no outright hostility in what he could see of his expression but a sort of exhaustion that either stemmed from a restless night, or this unexpected social encounter.

Finally, a deep rumble rose from the pile of furs, a voice that had the tone and density of a boulder rolling down a ravine: “The storm is over. Go home.”

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty.” Julian hurried to interrupt. As unwilling as the other man clearly was, he couldn’t just abandon this guy to his fate. He was living out here, all by himself, with a wild wolf for company. This was no place to sweat out a fever, especially on his own. “I did come to help, so at least let me give it a whirl.”

“Don’t touch me.”

The distrust that radiated from the other was almost suffocating and rivaled the heat of his feverish skin. Julian didn’t sense outright malice in this, rather the sort of cornered aggression you’d find in a trapped animal. He was trying to hide in his little burrow of blankets; he glared and growled. That wasn’t an offensive tactic. He was constantly retreating. Julian regarded him with a pang of sympathy. How long had he been alone out here? What had driven him away from the city?

“No touching,” Julian promised, again holding up his hands. “How about we start with names? I gave you mine. Can I trust you to return the favor?”

A beat of silence. Inanna turned her head to look back at her sick companion with that same expectant expression on her otherwise expressionless face. Her snout quivered gently as she breathed. A grunt answered her from below the furs. Whatever strange wordless communication was in progress before his eyes, it worked out in his favor.

“Muriel.” The stranger coughed hoarsely and closed his eyes in resignation and pain. “We already met.”

“We did?”

Instead of explaining himself Muriel only raised one sluggish hand and pointed down next to his bed. Julian followed the indicating finger and his eye widened in bewilderment. There sat a flask by the side of Muriel’s sleeping place. One of his flasks.

“But-- How did you--?” Julian made an instinctive grab for his bag, as if he could retroactively protect its contents. “I don’t remember giving you that.”

“No, you don’t.” Muriel’s voice had dropped to a throaty mumble which in any other context could have chased a frisson down Julian’s spine. It still kind of did. “Take it back.”

Julian inched closer to snatch the bottle away. He inspected it briefly, to find that it was still corked and sealed. He didn’t have to point out to Muriel that the idea of this drought was to drink it, not keep it in the general vicinity, so he figured that he had rejected this help as much as any other. This still didn’t explain his sudden memory lapse, though there had been a few of those lately, but he decided to let that matter rest for the time being.

“So, Muriel,” He said, tasting the name on his tongue for any familiar flavors. It didn’t feel _foreign_. “I get that you want me out of your hair. You don’t need any help. Clearly. You’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself.” He wasn’t sure if prodding like this was the correct way to go about this, pestering a sick man, but he wanted to find at least some kind of angle to work this guy from. “How about you do me a favor then? I came all the way out here to practice my bedside manner. Don’t let me trudge back empty handed. When have you last eaten anything?”

Muriel was silent for a long moment, then he cracked open one eye, “You really don’t give up, do you.”

“What is a man without his vices?” Julian shrugged as he rolled up his sleeves. “Besides, I told you, Asra asked me to look after you. Can’t let our magical friend down, can we? Especially because he’ll have my hide if I do.”

There was also the matter of Inanna. Whatever strange connection she shared with Muriel, she was the one who had brought him here. Julian was not the most intuitive person in the world, but something told him that he was needed. And it was a good feeling, this need; like a warm pull forward, beckoning him to do something he did well. He was a doctor, dammit. He was going to act like one.

Muriel muttered something under his breath and looked away. But it looked as if in this battle of wills, Julian was going to have his way. Muriel was simply too sick to put up a fight. If he weren’t, he probably would have folded Julian into origami by now. Instead he coughed and shivered to himself.

“Fine,” He ground out finally. “The latch over there. Open it.”

Julian jumped to attention. Muriel gestured tiredly to a corner, not far from where his guest had made his uncomfortable bed. There was truly a hatch in the ground that was, although heavily, well oiled and easy to open. It led down into a pantry, a small ladder aiding the descent. Julian could stand upright in it and still glance over the edge into the hut. He could only imagine how hilarious it’d look with Muriel peering out of this hole in the floor.

“What am I looking for?”

“Five eggs, water,” A cough. “A brown satchel.”

“What’s in it?”

“…Myrrh.”

“Nutritious.”

The food and drink were quickly sought out and collected from the basket and cask. Then he did a quick sweep for the myrrh. The reason was beyond him, but he didn’t bother questioning it. He found it quickly enough, a surprising amount of it, sitting in a weather-worn satchel. He sampled a small bag full. As Julian rummaged through the crammed shelves he stumbled across a couple of familiar items. Aside from foodstuffs, he also found an array of ingredients for poultices, tinctures and charms. Many of these he had seen before, in the magic shop. Behind a dusty bowl of undetermined use, Julian found a tiny wooden figurine. It bore some resemblance to a bear, but its features and shape were so crude, it must have been carved by a child. Dust had settled on everything on this level and had apparently not been touched in quite a while. Old charms and trinkets, beaded strings and assortments of dried liquids in grey vials. It looked like a sadder, more neglected version of Asra’s inventory.

He tore himself away from the collection of oddities and magical items, when he heard a hacking cough up above, followed by a rustling of furs. Oh shit, was someone in the hut? Julian ducked his head, searching for an out. Of course there wasn’t one. He was sitting in a hole in the ground. He was perfectly trapped.

“You’re taking too long.” A gravely, droning voice announced from above. It was almost painfully familiar, just on the edge of his mind. A bed creaked in protest. Before Julian could decide on a strategy, the hulking shape of a stranger appeared above him. He was swathed in pale shadow, and a thick black coat that he had wrapped around himself. His mossy stare was fixed on Julian, betraying neither surprise nor wariness, only exhaustion and a vague sense of annoyance. Julian stared back up at him. He looked like a giant from down here. How could he have missed him? No. No, he hadn’t. He knew who that was. He had seen him before.

“I…”

“Open the bag.” The man interrupted his drawn-out speechlessness gruffly. Julian frowned and looked down at the bag he kept clutched in one hand. After putting the food he had been carrying aside, he deftly opened the leather strings. A plume of familiar scent enveloped his senses, rising up to meet him. He took an instinctive breath. The earthy smell was so potent it left him light-headed, as if a great weight was lifted off the back of his mind. And then, all his synapses lit up at once. Julian’s eye widened.

“Muriel.” He muttered, aghast. How could he have forgotten him? They had just spoken. And last night. And before that, yes, before that, too. The sound of a rattling key pierced his mind and he flinched from the memory.

Muriel didn’t look the least bit enthused by Julian’s sudden recollection. It almost seemed as if he found it uncomfortable. But despite his wandering stare, his stifled cough, he slowly reached down an arm to help Julian out of the pantry.

“I don’t understand,” The doctor admitted. He took the hand and was shocked at its hot grip. Muriel was burning up as he spoke. His pulse was a rapid thumping under Julian’s palm. One closer look at his face revealed a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and an ashen pallor that had tinted the dark of his skin a sickly grey. Before he could object, Muriel grabbed him firmly and pulled him out. In Muriel’s grasp Julian felt weightless, which was to say as if he weighed nothing. His feet had to scramble to hurry up the ladder steps to catch up with the rest of him. He stumbled a little once he was on solid ground again and came face to face with the glinting metal of Muriel’s chain.

“Keep the myrrh on you. It breaks the spell.” That was all Muriel imparted as he slammed the hatch shut again with a telling air of finality. He had released him as if he had touched a hot stove, almost flinching away as soon as he could. The exercise had clearly not been born out of a need to be helpful as much as it had been to get the outsider out of the secret-laden basement.

Julian’s questions began to breed like rabbits, multiplying by the minute. Before he could get them in an orderly line, though, he had to take care of Muriel. He looked about ready to faint again. “All right, first things first. Back to bed.” He said in a decidedly authoritative tone. His hand came up to pat the broad chest before him, but he faltered just shy of skin contact. Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Muriel eagerly pulled away from him and brought distance between them again. A faint blush dusted his cheeks. He trundled back to his sleeping place and made to lie back down. His eyes had closed before his head hit the pillow.

Julian collected the goods and tried to orientate himself in the kitchen space. There was an old pan, blackened iron so heavy and dinged up, it couldn’t stem from the current century. He found jugs and jars, two plates and one set of cutlery. Good enough. He poured some water into a mug and carried it over to Muriel.

“Here, drink.” He spoke quietly, to not disturb Muriel in case he had dozed off to sleep. He hadn’t. “Water is even more important than food right now, though you should try to eat if you can keep it down. I’ll fry up those eggs in a second. I’ll put a mean spice on those things.”

Said and done. While Muriel nursed his drink, Julian puttered about the hut. It was the first time he was allowed to feel useful in this space and he relished it. The simple act of cooking a meal instantly familiarized him with his surroundings and the steady crackling of the eggs in the pan seemed to put Muriel more at ease, too. Inanna eventually made her way out, probably to catch her own breakfast. As he let her out the door, he noticed the manifold of charms and runes that adorned the door frame. None of them looked familiar but as soon as he made to feel the carved symbols a rejecting energy pulsed through his fingertips, rebuffing him. He would have to be blind not to recognize powerful magic like this. One charm consisted of a scrap of purple clothing, wrapped around a weakly glistening pebble, polished to glass by the sea. Another was made up entirely of shells and wooden beads, tied to an oddly straight twig. He also spotted one that reminded him of a wind chime, but, morbidly, the dangling ornaments seemed to have been carved from bones. This didn’t resemble Asra’s handiwork. It looked too rustic, too straight forward, in a way. With his luck, Muriel was a magician in his own right. That’d explain a couple of things, wouldn’t it?

Every now and then, Julian stole a glance at the silent giant, resting with flat breath and tired eyes, in his furs. Something in his chest tightened every time he saw him decked out in all his disease. It was a sense of foreboding dread that he couldn’t shake, as if he had seen this before and knew how it would end. Julian flexed his hand at his side.

There was a lot to unpack here. Muriel was under some kind of spell and it forced others to forget all about him. That much Julian was able to deduce. It was a shiver-inducing thought. Muriel was no doubt a solitary creature but the sheer vastness of the isolation such a life entailed twisted Julian’s stomach in trepidation. Did Muriel have family somewhere, unaware of his very existing? Did he have old friends who had now completely forgotten about him and didn’t even know that they were missing someone? No wonder he didn’t care to engage with others. What was the point if they forgot ever having met him the moment he was out of sight?

“Breakfast is served,” Julian brought a plate over to the bed as Muriel made to sit up. He looked less than thrilled, casting a wary glance at the doctor and then back to the kitchen.

“What, do you think I poisoned your food?” He clucked his tongue in comedic disapproval. “Maybe I’m a murderer, but I would hope that I have more class than that.”

Muriel took the plate with a scowl and turned away so that Julian wouldn’t see him scarfing down the eggs like a starved man. A twinge of concern darkened his gaze. Hadn’t Muriel been feeding himself at all? No wonder he was in such bad shape. Julian himself ate his own portion at the table, washing it all down with some water. It didn’t taste half as stale as he had expected, and rather clean, too. There was a river nearby, he wagered, or else a well of some sort.

“Have we met before?” Julian broke the silence after a while, no longer able to keep the questions down that burned on the tip of his tongue. “Before last night, I mean. Do I know you?”

Muriel had polished off his plate and was now busy massaging his temples to combat a headache. This hid his eyes so Julian couldn’t tell if he was looking at him or not. “Yes. We met.” He gave up every single word like a combatant ceding ground, with a grim resignation and the clear intention of reclaiming what had been yielded.

“Were we friends?” Julian prodded further.

“No.”

“Ah…” That didn’t really come as a surprise, considering how Muriel had been reacting to him so far. “I can’t say that I blame you. I’ve been known to be a handful.”

Muriel shrugged. “We didn’t talk much.” And that was apparently just fine with him. He didn’t look like he had any questions of his own. For once, though, Julian welcomed this lack of interest in his dramatic escape or potentially murderous past. The silence that Muriel enforced was not oppressive as much as it grew naturally. The quiet didn’t stem from an absence of care only an absence of words.

The day passed in a similar fashion. Muriel eventually drifted off to an uneasy sleep which Julian used to sneak up on him and place a cold rag on his forehead. That fever wasn’t going to break itself, by the look of it. If he had his way, he’d whip up some leg compresses and force those on Muriel, too. In a way it was nice to flex his medical muscles again, rather than simply absorbing the harm into his own body and destroying it there. Still, it would be much easier that way. Julian passed the time by scribbling in his notebook and wringing his hands over the developments back at the palace. He was supposed to lie low and that was exactly what he was doing but it still felt like a refuge he had no right to. He should be in the city, facing justice. Well, there would be time for that after he had fixed Muriel up. He would recover soon, no doubt. More than enough time. Just a few more days of dubious peace before the cataclysm. That was why he was here, wasn’t it? Forget that nonsense about being a good doctor or caring about your neighbor. He was here to hide from the consequences of his actions. He was a coward to the last.

Julian listened to the soft snoring and hoarse mumbling from the bed and watched the sky through the small window. The storm clouds had dispersed during the course of the day, leaving only fluffy checkerboard patterns behind. Now those were tinted a vibrant pink in the light of the sinking sun. It was oddly peaceful, even against the black backdrop of the forest covered mountain tops. He was about to get up to start a new fire, when Muriel suddenly jerked upright in his bed with a muffled shout, “Inanna!”

Julian jumped. “Woah, there. Everything’s fine. It was just a dr—”

“Where is she!” Muriel’s eyes were wide, the flitting green of his irises surrounded by pools of white. He struggled to peel away the blankets while Julian fruitlessly attempted to stop him.

“It was a nightmare, she’s fine. She’s out hunting.” He insisted. And once again it was proven to him that fate may not have a sense of humor but knew a thing or two about irony. Before he could fully finish his sentence, a wolf’s pained howl rose from the woods. 


	3. Trust Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to throw in a quick thank you to every single one of you lovely people who gave Kudos and commented on this fic. It really made my day to know you guys are enjoying this little exercise!

“No, wait—”

Muriel was already out of the door. For a sick man who hadn’t even been able to get up from his bed last night he was surprisingly quick on his feet now. Julian cursed and ran after him but for every two strides he took, Muriel only had to take one. Darkness was descending rapidly as every hurdled root and tree trunk carried him deeper into the woods with only Muriel’s receding back to guide him. Twigs and branches came snapping into his face, slicing up his cheeks and tangling his hair. He ducked gracelessly when he could and stumbled over loose pebbles. It was as if the forest itself was trying to trip him up, trying to slow him down. Muriel all but flew over the muddy ground in his feverish daze while Julian had to fight for every meter. He staggered, he grimaced, and suddenly there was emptiness. The hulking shape he had followed until now was nowhere to be seen.

“Dammit. Muriel!” His breathless shout was muffled by the thick canopy of leaves and shadows. There was no answer. His gaze jumped wildly from one beaten path to the next, searching for any sign of where his charge had taken off to. A sensation of choking dread crawled up the back of his neck, closing its long-fingered hand around his throat. The gaps between the tree trunks opened like yawning maws, waiting for a tongue to wind out and drag him into the dark. He wilted away from the trees, searching for the sparse light that came filtering through the leaves overhead. What little light he had was of no use to him. All it showed him was the vast expanse of nothingness that was encroaching from all sides.

The trees had surrounded him like silent sentinels, standing rigid and imposing in rank and file. He thought that each time he turned around, they changed position. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up straighter with each passing second. He couldn’t even turn back. There was no back to turn. And despite how alone he suddenly felt, he had the creeping suspicion that there were more eyes on him than he would have liked. Not that he could see anything! Okay, so sight was useless. Everything else in the forest was giving him a run for his money, _including_ the deathly sick goliath that had just charged off into the underbrush. Fair enough. He didn’t have any depth perception anyway, what with the patch. Instead he listened. It was a very conscious listening, the kind that took effort. Slowly the silence began to fill with sounds, like thin water pooling around the edges. He heard the rustle of leaves, the soft chittering of nocturnal critters. The wind was picking up, likely trying to catch up with the storm that had passed by last night. Wood made sound when the wind raked its fingers through the branches. It creaked and moaned. In fact, it mostly moaned. The wood resounded with a ghostly groan, a wail as if it had a throat to wail with. --Nope. That was a person. Shit.

Julian cursed and took off again. The sound was like a beacon and like a beacon it got stronger the closer he came. It wasn’t a groan, he finally came to conclude. It was a snarl. Bigger than Inanna, and far more vicious. Julian picked up the pace even as he was desperately wracking his brain for what exactly he was going to do upon his arrival. Well, he didn’t have time to debate that matter for long.

Beneath him the ground suddenly gave way to a steep, leaf and mulch cushioned decline. All Julian could do was yelp in surprise before he lost his balance, and plunged. He tumbled head over heels down the hill, narrowly missing a pair of twin pines that would have put a very decisive stop to his descent. Instead he broke through a thick thorn bush and scattered onto the uneven ground in a heap of bruised limbs and dirty fabric.

“The cavalry has arrived…” He muttered bleakly into the dirt.

When he lifted his head, he was met with a ghastly sight. He saw a glint of silver fur first, a thick mane of white rimmed by broken moonlight. And then those eyes. Those fiery red eyes, oozing hatred and sadistic glee. He jerked back in horror. It was a hulking monster, shaped vaguely like a goat but for all its needlepoint teeth and poised claws, it was clearly not above injury. It was missing an arm. It was… missing an arm. No, focus. Julian looked down to see who the slavering creature was cornering. His heart nearly stopped.

Muriel was on his hands and knees, shaking violently. His chest and throat were painted with a thick coat of fresh blood, dripping onto the forest ground. Next to him Inanna was snarling up a storm, her sable dark fur bristling and her muzzle pulled back into a grotesque visage of feral fury. Her hindleg was angled oddly, as if she couldn’t move it. They were hurt, badly. They needed help. Julian was only frozen for a fraction of a second. Then his training kicked into gear. It was a battlefield, a miniature one no doubt, but a battlefield all the same. He knew how to navigate his way around broken bodies.

He struggled to his feet when the monster began to approach Muriel again, a sprawling sneer distorting its features. Two fingers to his mouth, Julian let out an eardrum-shattering whistle. All three combatants flinched and turned.

“Pick on someone your own size, Snow White,” He snapped, surprised that his voice didn’t crack under the strain. “Going after the sick and infirm now? Feeling real tough?” Julian slowly pushed himself closer to Muriel and Inanna as he spoke. Everyone was still staring at t him as if he were some sort of phantasm come to life. Apparently no one had expected his belated arrival. “What? Wolf got your tongue?”

The goat creature watched him as if bemused by his presence. Then it lowered its head to his level and let out a bleating cackle. Its jaws dropped open to let a long red tongue loll out. There was a glint of recognition in its inhuman eyes and that alone sent a shiver down Julian’s spine.

“If it isn’t the hack doctor…” It drawled with a voice like nails on chalkboard. “Useless as ever, I see. Run back to your dungeon and your leeches. Or better yet: be quiet and wait your turn. I’ll get to you in a second.” 

Shock numbed his body. It could have fixed him to the spot if it hadn’t been for the incredulous look Muriel was giving him. He didn’t seem to fully comprehend the situation. Sweat and blood in his eyes, he looked up at him with such unguarded helplessness that it shook the doctor from his terror. Whatever that thing was, whatever it knew, he couldn’t worry about anything else until Muriel and Inanna were out of danger. While the goat talked, Julian had managed to get close enough to Inanna to reach out and touch her back.

“Impatient, are you?” The monster scoffed. It readied itself to pounce and so did the large wolf. Before she could slip away, Julian made a grab for her, magic crackling at his fingertips. He felt a surge of heat rush up into his throat, and then his leg broke. He swallowed a scream and sank down next to Muriel. He hissed through the pain as tears stung in his eyes. In front of him, Inanna took immediate advantage of her sudden cure. With a ferocious growl she charged and lunged for the beast’s throat. A choked shriek erupted from the goatman’s mouth as the wolf tore into him, again and again, biting so deep into its flesh that it couldn’t shake her off no matter how it bucked and twisted.

“In—” Muriel’s gasp was cut off by a brutal cough that wrecked his frame and brought him back down to the ground. He growled something under his breath in pure anger, shoulders trembling. It didn’t even sound like words in any language. It was nothing but primal rage. Julian scrambled closer to him. His leg had already set itself again, the pain a dull memory.

“Come here,” Julian pleaded. “You can’t help her like this. I can fix this. Trust me.” He reached out to Muriel. The mark on his neck began to pulse with eager energy, as if in hunger, an insatiable need to consume suffering. He didn’t have time to explain but even in his delirious state Muriel had to understand how dire the situation was. The wolf could only hold that thing off for so long. The second between this moment and the next dragged on like a drop of molasses. Piercing howls punctuated the trembling indecision that suffocated them.

Finally, Muriel broke. A trembling hand was reached out to Julian in silence. But this silence, too, was filled with life. Muriel’s eyes were unfocused and wild but never before had he seen them so clearly. Forest green, shining with pain and distrust to the point of heartbreak. He heard his rattling breath, his dying heartbeat, his pumping blood. He heard the fear that curled in the back of Muriel’s throat, strangling any words before they could form. But there was his hand, reaching out despite all this, accepting what he had to offer. Julian took it.

And then the world went red. The fever crashed into him like a battering ram, worse than he could have ever imagined. How had Muriel been walking and talking in this state! A furnace kindled in his chest, flames spiking up into his throat. His head was thrown back from the onslaught of the headache and his shaking legs gave out from under him. He felt his consciousness slipping from his grasp, black spots blotting out his vision until all he felt was a floating sickness that seeped into his very flesh. And below that, four slash wounds raked across his neck and chest. Exhaustion and pain were the last things he was aware of, before the large hand of Muriel slid out of his weakening grasp. Then he fell.

Julian’s body slumped to the ground. He was breathing, though flatly, and safe enough for the moment. In his stead, Muriel rose to his feet. His vision had cleared near instantly and the thick debilitating haze that had cloaked his senses was torn away like an old curtain. New strength surged in him as his control over his body returned to him. Muriel planted his feet firmly on the ground in front of the doctor. Inanna let go off the beast and circled back to him. The monster was immediately on her heels, its claws raised over its head. Muriel braced himself and stepped into its path. Their bodies collided in a clash of fur and muscle, knocking the air out of his broad chest as he wrapped his arms around the furry torso to wrestle it back. The wet ground slid under his straining feet as he pushed against the attack. He could feel its hot breath exploding against his back as it doubled over him with a grunt. The unforgiving ivory of its fangs grazed his shoulder. But Muriel didn’t give it the time to strike. His arm shot up as he grabbed the front of the beast’s snout, nails digging into the soft skin. He shoved it back with the flat of his palm and worked his second hand up to grab onto its lower jaw.

With all his might he forced the large white head backwards until he was staring into an open maw, stark red, a lashing tongue in its midst and framed by flesh-rendering teeth. The beast thrashed in mindless anger, but Inanna was on it in seconds. She leapt onto its back and buried her teeth in its neck again, jerking it back. Muriel didn’t let go. He only saw the open jaws above him, drool dripping from the points. And then he started to pull them apart. The angry growl that threatened to swallow him up instantly turned into a pained whine. The beast yowled in furious agony. He could feel the tension of sinews give out under his force. The body wasn’t strong. Muriel was. He felt stronger than he had in a long time, much angrier too. A red haze was threatening to engulf the whole forest. He’d tear this thing limb from limb if he had to.

But the monster wrung free from his grip, tearing the inside of his hands in the process, and scrambled backward. Its jaws hung open as if in shock at the resistance it had met, teeth gnashing repeatedly. Its confidence had taken a harsh blow here, even as it tried to shake off the attack like a wet dog. A growl grew in its damaged throat. But it, too, took stock of the new situation. The tables had turned. Its two opponents were back on their feet, their health restored to them. Muriel balled his hand into a white-knuckled fist, daring it to attack.

“What a nuisance,” The goat creature grumbled and shook its head. “I don’t have time to play games with you, Scourge. We both know you don’t have it in you to fight a fair fight.” As it bleated its taunts, it made to retreat into the forest. Inanna stepped forward as if to pursue but Muriel subtly shook his head. They couldn’t get in over their heads here. He only glared after the beast as it backed away, his upper lip curling into the semblance of a snarl.

“Just you wait,” Its ghostly hiss evaporated in the rising fog. “Just wait, this isn’t the last of it. You’ll pay for this…”

When it was out of sight, Muriel took a deep breath and steadied himself. The world came rushing back to him all at once and his head was swimming with adrenaline. Inanna snuffled at his hand and licked the blood from his fingers. There were wounds there, cuts and gashes, but he could hardly feel them. He swallowed dryly and gave her head a light scratch. Before Muriel could fully regain his composure, a muffled groan rose from behind him. Julian had rolled onto his back, grimacing to himself.

“Did we win?” He huffed as he made to sit up. Muriel was looking down at his hands. The bleeding would stop eventually.

“No.” He decided. An uncomfortable weight was settling in his chest as he recounted to himself what had just happened to him. The anger he had felt couldn’t have been his own. He wasn’t that person. He didn’t want to do those things. Whatever that thing was, it was drawing out the worst in all it encountered. The very forest seemed to grow hostile at its touch. “He fled.”

“That sounds like a win to me.” Julian quipped in his annoyingly fake chipper tone. He got to his feet and tried to clap off the wet leaves that stuck to him. Muriel watched him in wonder, the performance of it. Julian, he thought to himself. Julian had come for them. Why had he done that?

“Sorry, I think I passed out for a second there.” He continued, pinching the bridge of his nose as she shuffled closer. “Ahh, what happened? Are you all right? I still got that magic touch.” He wiggled his free fingers, rather noncommittally. He looked bone tired.

Muriel opened his mouth to speak, a soft parting of his lips. He paused, uncertain. There was something he ought to say to him. ‘Thank you’ came to mind. He should thank him, shouldn’t he? Julian had run after him without regard for his own safety and had—Well, what had he done? Muriel had not seen magic like this before. There was no refinement to it. It was raw, almost primal, in its execution. It took the most direct route, allowed no flourishes and accomplished its purpose without compromise. But if nothing else, he recognized the mark that Julian bore on his throat. A shadow fell over his budding gratitude, a sense of foreboding dread that stifled what relief he had felt before.

“I don’t need it.” He muttered as he composed himself. “We need to get back to my hut. _He_ is still out there.”

“He?” Julian turned around as if he could peer through the crawling shadows by sheer power of will alone. He furrowed his brow and fell silent. A grim glint had entered his eye as his features rippled with a variety of emotions that each flitted just below the surface like so many translucent fish in a pond. He seemed older this way, more experienced. Muriel decided he liked that look better than the façade of the carefree clown he liked to put on instead.

“He knew me,” He continued quietly. His voice sounded like it came from inside a grave. “That monster knew who I was. The way he spoke, the way he moved; didn’t he remind you of…” There Julian stopped. Muriel didn’t need to guess what he was struggling with now. The idea was absurd to any skeptical mind. It was somewhat pleasing to think that another wouldn’t want to look the fool in front of him.

“Lucio.” Muriel finished the question that had petered out so uselessly. Hatred twisted his words into a bitter sneer: “That’s what’s left of him. Even death isn’t enough to stop his evil.”

A rigid jolt went through Julian’s long limbs. He stiffened, “You’re serious?”

“He’s been giving me trouble before.” Muriel admitted gruffly, eyes askance. Trouble was an understatement. This didn’t bode well. Lucio had been messing with the flow of nature before, corrupting wildlife and sowing wanton destruction, as was his habit, but never had he been this physically, this constantly aggressive. This was his fault, he knew. He had been laid low for a week and Lucio had used that weakness to his advantage. If he hadn’t fallen ill, if he had just pushed himself harder, nothing would have happened. The storm had likely destroyed his charms as well so there was no warding to protect them, no matter what might come crawling out of the woods. And Julian was still standing there as if rooted to the spot. He looked half caught in a nightmare, staring bleakly at nothing.

Inanna trotted off to scope out the safest route back home. Muriel made to follow her. There was no use getting to the repair work right now. He could barely see the hand in front of his face, let alone the myriads of small charms Asra had helped him put up around his hut. Tomorrow, he consoled himself. For now, it would be best to take his unlikely company back to safety. He owed him that much. He had saved his life. What a strange concept… Why would anyone do that? But here he was, saved, cured, for no other reason than that Julian had come by to help him. It was difficult to wrap his head around such actions. This was not how people acted towards him. He wasn’t usually on the receiving side of help. He didn’t know what to do with it. And Julian was still staring at the underbrush.

“Doctor.” Muriel’s low thunderclap of a voice shook Julian from his somber reverie. He turned to find, much to his astonishment, that the tall recluse was waiting for him by the edge of the tree line. He was watching him, waiting impatiently. For a brief moment Julian wasn’t sure what Muriel wanted from him. Was he just trying to send him off as politely as possible? His work was technically done here. Admittedly, not exactly by virtue of his doctor-patient relationship but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Muriel was likely eager to be rid of him. But that one only jerked his head towards some unseen path behind him.

“Let’s go home.”


	4. Late Night Talks

The walk back to the hut had been so ripe with tension that each silent second had ticked by like a prick of thorns in Julian’s side. Muriel was an image of wariness, broad shoulders hunched up and keeping to the shadows. At the best of times, his looming figure was a faint outline in the moonlight for Julian to guess at and run after. He didn’t speak to him, didn’t give a warning when he would suddenly stop to inspect an odd branch or strange discarded bundle of twigs on the ground. Julian didn’t try to break the silence, not just yet. He was still busy digesting everything that had happened to them.

There lives a man in the woods, he told himself in a child’s singsong, bordering on tired hysterics. There lives a man in the woods, and no one remembers him. He lives alone save the wolf by his side and fights the dead for a living. I couldn’t make that up if I tried.

Julian watched the muddy tips of his boots come in out of focus with every swaying step he took. He straggled behind, much to Muriel’s obvious displeasure, but each time he tried to pick up his pace and catch up, the woods dangerously doubled around him and he had to stop again to keep his head from reeling. That last cure had been a serious blow, he couldn’t deny that. There had been just… a lot, of everything. Goats, ghosts, magic. This wasn’t his realm of expertise. He got the distinct impression that this was not his part of the story. Asra should be the one to deal with this. He knew how to handle this stuff. Not him. Definitely not him.

But amidst this whirlpool of budding horror and confusion, there was the brief glimpse of Muriel’s face. Julian did believe that moment would burn itself into his memory for good, magic spells be damned. He could conjure the image up effortlessly: the wide eyes, the incredulous vulnerable wonder on his face, as if he had never, in all his years, seen anyone come to his aid before. His heart broke a little for an existence like that. No one deserved to be so alone. Sure, Muriel had made it very clear that he preferred his privacy, but it didn’t look like a preference at all. He acted like a cornered animal whenever he was around him, as if he expected him to plunge a dagger into his back the second he let his guard down. Thinking about it, the only time he had seen Muriel relax was when he had been fast asleep and that had only been the brief moments of peace between the fever throes. What had the world done to this man to terrify him so? --Julian’s thoughts were instantly interrupted when he walked into Muriel’s elbow.

“Ouch, sorry.” Julian caught himself on his arm and looked up. The last leg of their journey had really passed him by, huh? He found that they had made it back to the hut. Muriel glanced down at him dismissively but, to Julian’s surprise, he didn’t jerk his arm away from the touch. Instead he simply ushered Julian inside, Inanna pushing past them both to take up her spot by the dying fire. The homey atmosphere of the hut engulfed them at once, a comfortable embrace after the harrowing exertions of their little field trip. Julian found that he already felt safer, sheltered in a way. As if the outside world was not going to interrupt him here while he collected his thoughts and calmed his stuttering pulse.

Julian took a deep breath, allowing his senses to take note of the familiar scents and sensations. The hint of myrrh that clung to Muriel’s dusky skin, the thick furs, the earthy canopy of root-knotted wood, the embers. His eyes stayed closed for a long moment. It wouldn’t do them any good if he ended up freaking out and spooking his tentative host, getting himself kicked out in the process. While he stood there, a salt pillar in the middle of the small room, he listened to Muriel trudging back and forth in the hut. He seemed determined to ignore his presence. When Julian glanced at him through his eyelashes, he saw that Muriel had picked up a wet rag and was cleaning Inanna’s muzzle and leg of any blood. His touches were so gentle, it was difficult to remind himself that those very hands had held off a raging goat monster half an hour ago.

“So,” Julian announced his rejoining of the scene with a long sigh. He dragged himself over to the chair by the fire and let himself fall onto it with a dull thud. “We need to talk about some things.”

Muriel gave no outward sign that he had heard him. His eyes were intently fixed on the wolf who licked at his face whenever it came close enough to her nuzzling snout. The tension in his shoulders grew sharper. His gaze had turned hollow.

“As you can imagine I have a couple of questions. Just to clear some things up for me, really.” He tried for a more casual tone to put Muriel at ease. He didn’t want this to turn into an interrogation. Technically Muriel didn’t have to tell him anything. “Let’s start at the beginning and work our way up.”

Muriel’s eyes closed for a brief exasperated moment, then he looked back at Julian with a sullen stare. “…Fine.”

Was it him or was Muriel getting more agreeable? Actually, the word that had come to mind was ‘tamer’ but he didn’t want to go there, not when the iron of Muriel’s chain glinted like a vicious smirk around his throat.

“So, why do you live out here?” Julian began with what he assumed to be the most innocuous question to answer. To underline his point, he busied himself by throwing a log onto the glowing embers to get the fire going again.

Muriel stayed where he was, crouched by Inanna’s side, but he now turned more fully to face the doctor. He seemed to be doing something right.

“It’s safer.” Muriel said, and then added a scathing glance: “Quiet.”

Well, there was little arguing with the second part but how Muriel could consider himself safer out here than in the city after what had _just_ happened to them, that needed some elaboration, “Safer than Vesuvia? I just got back but I promise you, so far I’ve seen zero bloodthirsty monsters roaming the streets.”

At that, Muriel let out a cynical laugh. It was a muffled sound, half a snort, but it was like ringing glass to Julian’s ears. Apparently that was all the comment he cared to give but it didn’t sit well with the older man. There was a deep-seated hatred at the core of that little noise that struck him. His startled stare met a wall of grim silence. Of course. Julian pocketed that little tangent for some other time. He leaned forward in his chair.

“How come I didn’t remember you at first? You mentioned a spell…” He didn’t want to say it but, well, there was only one magician that really came to mind as the culprit. Asra had cursed him; perhaps he had cursed Muriel, too.

“You haven’t figured it out.” It wasn’t a question, rather a disappointed sigh. Muriel looked at him, slightly askance. “You weren’t the only one who made a deal that night.”

Julian’s brows drew together in confusion. “That night?” He echoed, one gloved hand twitching towards his throat in a moment of innate understanding. The hole in his memories pounded like an open wound.

Muriel nodded bleakly, a look of sorrow and shame etched onto his features. As quickly as he had met Julian’s gaze, as quickly did he drop it again. A beat of silence dragged on impossibly long before he continued: “Being forgotten. That was my reward.”

“Asra considered this a reward?” Julian gaped. He knew the witch had a cold streak, but this was outright cruel in its irony. He couldn’t believe Asra would treat a friend to such a fate and call it fortunate.

“Asra?” Muriel echoed, just as surprised. “You think Asra did this?”

“Wh—" He stumbled over his tongue to be suddenly so found out in his assumption. He felt caught, red-handed, as it were. A flash of heat shot into Julian’s cheeks. “I mean, didn’t he? Who else could have?”

“It wasn’t Asra.” Muriel cut his argumentation short with a firm shake of his head. Julian’s head had resumed spinning. There were so many answers he was looking for and he was starting to think that they had all been waiting for him here, somewhere in the woods. Muriel, who was forgotten by all, remembered everything. Julian opened his mouth to continue his questioning.

“What you did back there, the way you healed us,” Muriel interrupted him, now in a softer timbre, and gestured to Julian’s hand at his neck. “Do you think that is a gift?”

This was the first time Muriel expressed any notion of curiosity about Julian himself and they both seemed starkly aware of it. Tall and broad and rugged as he was, Muriel looked almost coy with the way his gaze danced across the room to escape meeting Julian’s. The doctor couldn’t help but feel a sudden jerk towards the other man, a sense of understanding between them that hadn’t been there before. Something was different.

Julian weighed his head. “It’s fitting.” He smiled wryly. “I was always chastised for trying to play the martyr. Now I don’t have to try. But I get to help people. Really help them. Without this, I couldn’t have done anything for you back there. You could’ve gotten killed. So yeah, I guess I think it’s a gift. Double-edged, of course, but that’s magic for you.”

“Double-edged,” Muriel mouthed the word to himself with a sense of grim agreement. Then he lifted his gaze. Inanna had curled up by his side, her large brown head on his knee and her yellow eyes reduced to hooded slits, as he absentmindedly scratched a spot behind her ear. “I suppose I should thank you.” He ground out, as if it was a conscious effort on his part to form the words. “For what you did. For her.”

Despite his affectations, it was obvious that he meant it. Julian cracked a tired smile. “Oh, Inanna will outlive us both.” He assured him. “I was more worried about you. So thanks yourself, for taking a chance on me back there. And also the whole beast wrestling shtick.” Julian’s expression soured when his thoughts returned to the matter of said beast. He felt a familiar queasy feeling in his stomach, the sort of dread that balled up just under your rib cage seconds before things were going to go terribly wrong, “You said that was Lucio’s ghost.”

“Something like that.” The moment Julian mentioned the late count, Muriel shrunk back into himself with a scowl and wouldn’t meet his eyes again. “It’s Lucio, or what is left of him.” The thought of him was like an oppressive weight in the hut, a shroud of old pain that covered everything with a layer of thick dust. Apparently, Julian wasn’t the only one with some history there.

“Are ghosts usually that furry?”

“I don’t know.” Despite himself, Muriel’s mouth belied a tiny twitch at its corner. Julian could see it by the glow of the fire. “But I’m sure they’re usually not that ugly.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up in Julian’s throat, which Muriel acknowledged with a small smile of his own. It felt good to joke about it, if only for a moment. Making light of things, that was the way. He hadn’t thought Muriel was capable of anything resembling humor. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t delighted to have been wrong.

“So you met a lot of ghosts?” Julian prodded in a teasing tone. Muriel only huffed. By now he was quite used to it that many of his comments wouldn’t elicit a verbal response, but as it happened, he was getting used to reading Muriel’s silent ways. He was a very expressive person once you got past the defensive hunching and acidic glares. He glanced, he moved, he adjusted in reaction to everything that happened around him. Muriel was alert and not slow on the uptake. There was a lot going on in that head of his, even if he tried to hide it. So what if he didn’t talk much? Julian talked enough for the both of them.

He sighed to himself, one elbow propped up on the table. His muscles were aching under the weight of the recent strain and he was in dire need of a drink. Coffee, he thought, or else something with a high percentage to it. He doubted Muriel had either on hand. He thought back to the hidden pantry he had seen this morning. Most of the things down there had looked old to the point of uselessness, but they had been manufactured with care. He must have gone to the city in the past, or else someone had brought him utensils to live out here in some semblance of comfort. Muriel didn’t strike him as the kind of guy who raked in a lot of favors so it was likely Asra. Asra again. He couldn’t get away from him, could he? Julian’s brow furrowed.

“You use magic, don’t you?” He asked after a moment. “The thing by the door, and there’s stuff down in the pantry. Are you a magician, too?”

Muriel had meanwhile gotten up from his spot by Inanna’s side and begun washing his hands in the pail by the fireplace. “No.” He muttered from behind the curtain of thick dark hair that had fallen in front of his face. “I just picked up a few tricks. For protection.”

“Magic for protection?” Julian arched a brow, skeptical. “That’s the first I’d hear of that.”

“What do you think it’s for?” Came the quiet reply as Muriel straightened back up to his full height. The moment his eyes fell on Julian, sitting by the fireplace with his long legs sprawling out into the room, a shadow of annoyance fell over his features again, as if he had forgotten that his house guest was in fact a physical presence and not just a voice in his head.

“Dunno. Blood rituals, summoning spirits, cursing folks.” He listed on his fingers. That was all he had ever seen at least. Asra wasn’t too forthcoming when it came to sharing his secrets, at least not with him. Muriel rolled his eyes under the canopy of his ever-furrowed brows.

“I have to check on the charms tomorrow. They need repairing. I can show you the way back to the city, then.”

Julian started. “Now, hold it, we have to talk about this. Don’t kick me out just yet. We have to tell someone about the ghost.” He hurried to argue.

“They won’t listen.”

“We have two eyewitnesses right here,” Julian trumped. Inanna whined indignantly and he corrected: “Three.”

Muriel’s head snapped up, a glint in his dark eyes. “And you think they’ll believe a word you tell them? You managed to get yourself sentenced to death by hanging, if you forgot. The second the guards spot you, they’ll arrest you.”

He had a point. Julian sunk back into himself, gently deflating as the reality of his situation came back to him. Right. The murder. If he hadn’t—_if_ he had—then there would be no spirit stalking the woods now, attacking innocent people. But he had to fix this. Muriel couldn’t be left alone out here to defend himself against that thing with nobody knowing about it. Julian tried to regain some of his drive.

“If they arrest me, they’ll take me to the countess.” He suddenly realized. A dangerous kind of enthusiasm entered his tone there. “I can tell her about this, about you. Even if she hangs me, she must be warned about this. I won’t leave you to get hunted down by Lu—by that thing.”

“No.”

“It’s perfect. What better way to get an audience on short notice? I’ll get myself arrested and before you know it, that whole ghost business is done with.”

“Julian.”

“I’ll go right now.” The doctor rose to his feet.

Muriel’s fist slammed on the table so loudly that even the wolf flinched in surprise. Everyone froze, jerking away from the sudden noise. Muriel looked outright spooked, like a horse about to heel. He was looking at his fist, then had Julian, with that same bewildered expression. This must have been the largest reaction he had exhibited in a long while. Inanna was glancing back and forth between the two men, trying to discern where the conflict was stemming from. Much to his wonder, Muriel gathered his composure before Julian could.

“Why,” He began, his voice strained, strangely thin. “Are you so desperate to die? What do you stand to gain from running to your own death, again and again?”

“Now, that is a bit extreme.” Julian raised his hands, suddenly on the backfoot. Muriel’s patience had been steadily fraying, he realized, and now it was worn away to nothing. “I’m just trying to help.”

“If you were, you’d listen to what I’m saying.” Muriel muttered. “It’s no use. It’s definitely not worth getting yourself killed for it. And if you stopped to think, you’d realize that.” He broke off in an even lower tone, murmuring to himself. The only word Julian could discern without issue was a distinct use of the term ‘idiot’ at least twice.

“I mean,” Julian’s shoulders sank. He didn’t try to move towards the door again. “I have to face justice sooner or later, don’t I? I’d rather do it knowing it served a purpose.”

“Justice,” Muriel echoed with disdain as he rounded on him. “There is no justice in Vesuvia. There never has been. Things don’t change. Even with Lucio gone, the people are just as bloodthirsty and violent as before. They’ll see you hang for the sport of it. I won’t let you throw your life away just because you can’t find anything better to do with it. Not for this, not for me.”

Later he wouldn’t be able to explain how he thought it possible in the moment, but as he spoke, Muriel’s form seemed to grow to a looming shadow over him, blotting out the glow of the fireplace and all its warmth until Julian withered in the dark of it. He was stunned by so much raw emotion, not hidden behind terse remarks or muttered asides, but stark and imminent and without reprieve. His pulse beat hastily in his throat, driving warmth through his body in waves. Muriel’s body was rearing up against his own, subjugating it through sheer proximity alone.

For a brief moment, there was a memory, something bloody and stringy that creaked in the back of his mind: A hulking shape, standing at the center of an arena pit, a large axe raised high above his head, and the deafening din of a thousand voices clamoring for death. He saw it clear as day. The long tangled hair, damp with sweat, the heavy brow, the scarred shoulders heaving under the strain of the kill, and hands dripping red with blood, dripping into the sand, rivulets of it, curling along knuckles and tendons. Bloodied hands, bleeding hands. Muriel’s hands…

“Your hands,” Julian snapped to attention. He grabbed Muriel by the wrist and turned it around. He had balled his fingers into a fist so tightly, blood was seeping out from under his nails. But those weren’t fresh wounds, and certainly not caused by a mere moment of tension. Muriel’s palm was all but shredded, flayed of its skin. Julian stared at it in disbelief. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Muriel tried to jerk away but the fight had gone out of him as soon as he had said his piece. It was only a twitch, a performative rejection that he didn’t follow through on. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t change the subject.”

“Yes, it matters. That’ll scar.” Julian insisted, all too glad for the distraction. He tugged off his glove with his teeth while holding Muriel’s hand firmly in place. When it became clear that the other wasn’t going to fight him on this, Julian allowed his grasp to soften. He thought of what he had seen these hands do in only the last day, and of everything they might have done before that. Julian’s fingertips ghosted over the dusky skin, feeling its warmth, the gentleness beneath the wound.

“Let me,” He trailed off, his voice a murmur against the shell of Muriel’s ear. The welts and calluses of ceaseless work and untreated injury rose up beneath his touch. A flash of light pulsed between their hands as the cuts and gashes closed beneath Julian’s palm, only to open in it anew. Muriel held curiously still while he let himself be healed, despite his protest. Julian lifted his head to remark on it but suddenly found that a certain pair of forest green eyes was already staring back at him. Strangely haunted, strangely touched, Muriel watched him and said nothing.

Julian didn’t have it in him to drop his gaze. Between their clasped hands his wounds had sealed over immediately, leaving only a prickling hum in their wake. His breath was coming a little heavier now. It wasn’t often that he used his ability in such rapid-fire succession. He wanted nothing but to sit down now, take the weight off his feet, but he couldn’t move. Muriel’s stare had him pinned like a butterfly to a corkboard. He was still holding his hand.

“You’re not going to do anything stupid.” Muriel’s voice rolled over him like distant thunder. A treacherous frisson ran down Julian’s back at this tone that brooked no dissent. It wasn’t a request; it was an order. Julian nodded weakly and hoped his palms wouldn’t heat up any further.

Seemingly satisfied, Muriel pulled away from him, flexing his hand by his side. “Sit down before you faint.” He added as he turned back to the fire. A small jolt went through his broad frame, as if he had just remembered something vital. “Or don’t. I don’t care.”

With that, Muriel ceased talking for the evening. The silence that ensued wasn’t hostile or dismissive as it might have been before. Julian figured he had simply reached his word limit for the day. Of course, that wasn’t in his own best interests. He didn’t do too well with silence. It left room for thoughts and there were some rabbits he was ardently avoiding lest they led him on a merry chase.

Instead he puttered about the tiny hut, trying to scrounge up a passable dinner. He found some berries in a bowl that, as Muriel indicated, were safe to consume. He snacked on them for a while, occasionally trying to offer his host some of his own food only to be rejected each time. It was sort of endearing how Muriel stiffly clung to his gruff mountain man persona while simultaneously trying to keep everyone around him out of harm’s way. That was what he was doing, wasn’t it? As destined for violence as his stature made him out to be, Muriel was not indifferent to suffering. He’d like to be, but he wasn’t. Julian could see it. Sure enough, there was a soft core in there. A good guy deep down, hm? But what he had said before about the city and its people still echoed in Julian’s ears. He wasn’t blind to the many scars on his toned body either. Thoroughbred coliseum stock, if he was any judge.

At some point he would have to start taking notes on that guy. There was so much going on behind that shroud of silence and nothing tempted Julian like a mystery. Well, this particular mystery was currently busy whittling a small piece of wood into shape, so he figured he’d best leave him to it. It was getting late anyway. The day had taken a lot out of him, out of them both. As soon as the thought entered Julian’s mind he was overcome by a long, open-mouthed yawn. He looked back at his meager nest on the ground where he had made camp the night before.

“Take the bed,” Muriel’s voice rose quietly behind him, scratching a little at the edges of his throat. Under Julian’s surprised look, he shrunk back, a sweet pink tint to his cheeks. “I mean. If you want. I’m going to stay up.”

“Why? You should sleep, Muriel. Your body—”

Muriel shot him a glare to cut him off. Then he rumbled on: “I told you. The charms are not working. We’re not safe tonight. I’ll keep watch.”

Oh. Right. Lucio. In the woods. Julian bristled at the mental image of that white furry beast breaking down the door with nothing to stop it. A winning smile graced his lips all the same. “You just send him through to me. I may not have the muscle mass, but I have the reflexes of a jungle cat.” To illustrate his point, Julian jabbed at the empty air with the side of his hands in a fast chopping motion.

Muriel rewarded his efforts with a snort but there was a distinctly softer edge to his lips. “You wouldn’t last ten seconds.”

Julian dropped his arms with a defeated laugh. “Fair enough, perhaps it’s more of an old mouser.”

“_Please_ go to sleep.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”


	5. Sylvan Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! Sorry for the hiatus. Thanks for all the comments and kudos! I really wanted to come back with something good for you. Alas, this is the chapter any self-respecting editor would cut.

The air was thick with dew. Honeyed sunlight filtered through the branches and splayed out across the many wild patches of weeds and flowers. The forest seemed a different world, now that the storm had moved on. In the wake of the wind and clouds, there was an alien sweetness that rose from the earth. It smelled of wet bark and fresh grass. Julian stepped out into the small kitchen garden, relieved to find himself and the door intact. No beast had come in the night. No one had been whisked away by some aberrant ancient spell of the woods. The morning greeted them with docile tranquility and a handful of birdsongs.

He couldn’t say that he was particularly surprised to find that Muriel’s garden was straining against the definition of domestication with every errant beansprout and every thriving bushel of thistles. If there ever had been a path through the feral greenery, it had long since been swallowed back up by the ground. The dark shape of the stalking wolf slowly slid through the tall underbrush, forging a path before them. The stalks of dew-coated weeds broke against Inanna’s chest like waves against a ship’s hull. Muriel had once again donned his black fur coat, little more than a hide he wrapped around himself, really. He carried with him a hempen bag, which he had been very protective of all morning. No doubt that he was lugging around some magical component or other for this ominous ‘warding’ he had to fix.

Neither seemed to care for the dampness that was creeping into their bodies. Julian felt it all the more keenly. Already his pants were soaking through and a wet chill was crawling up his sleeves. He didn’t think to complain. Muriel had been pretty short with him, shorter than usual, after Julian had woken up to the image of him passed out in his chair at dawn, snoring away. The cold shoulder now was almost worth the look of flushed embarrassment on his face earlier. Muriel didn’t exactly look peaceful when he was asleep, Julian already knew that, but it had still been oddly endearing to see him so unawares. He must have been more exhausted than he had let on. Not that he had cared to discuss it afterwards. At the very least, the many deadlines he had set before never came to fruition. Muriel didn’t send him back to the city, despite sunshine and blue skies. Julian didn’t mention it again either. He could still see the expression on Muriel’s face when he had snapped at him, the sheer anger and fear of it. It snuffed all desire to offer himself up again.

They had been walking for a good ten minutes when Muriel’s lumbering pace slowed down. Julian peeked past his arm, “What is it? Are we there already?”

The bag was shrugged off Muriel’s shoulder. “This is a stopover.” He muttered at Inanna’s back. When he finally moved aside, Julian paused. He had expected to see some old ruin, overgrown with vines and moss. Or maybe a fairy ring, a stone circle, the works. Instead…

“Chickens?”

“Chickens.”

A good dozen of them were eagerly clucking through the underbrush, scratching at the moist ground in search for seeds and bugs. Fat, fluffy puffs of white and brown feathers dotted the clearing and when they caught sight of the giant shape of Muriel, it started an exciting uproar among them. They came racing towards him, caring nothing for the wolf or for Julian. They crowded at his feet and bawked expectantly at him. Muriel’s demeanor shifted so suddenly and entirely that Julian thought he was going to get whiplash from it.

The embodiment of brooding and sullen scowls which he had come to know and appreciate here was replaced by a man that had to struggle to keep the eager flock from crawling into his bag. “Sorry I didn’t come to visit.” Muriel said as he bent down to them. “Has the storm bothered you? Did you make it through all right?” Clucking answered him. And to Julian’s sheer disbelief and delight, Muriel clucked back. It had something of the way adults would babble back at children. It wasn’t clear whether there was an actual communication happening between the two parties or if Muriel was simply humoring them, but Julian’s heart seized up with the tenderness of this brief interlude. 

He could only hope that he had managed to wipe the astonished smile off his face by the time Muriel turned to look back at him. “Here,” He said and held out the bag to him, somewhat begrudgingly. “Feed them this for me. The storm damaged their hideout. I have to fix it.”

“Aye, captain.” He gave a mock salute and took the bag. “Any casualties?” Julian added gravely, lifting one hand as if to offer his assistance.

He hadn’t thought that Muriel would take him seriously, but he didn’t scoff or sneer. He almost smiled. “No, they are fine, doc. Be right back.”

Julian’s gaze softened at the ironic nickname. Of course Muriel meant it as a taunt but there was a sense of appreciation in that word that Julian couldn’t be imagining. He liked it much better than ‘hack’ for instance. He opened the bag, which revealed itself to truly contain nothing but birdfeed and not a single trace of anything supernatural or witchcraft related. So Julian scattered the seeds and crumbs on the ground while Inanna sternly supervised his work. Muriel had disappeared among the gnarled roots, bushes and tree trunks and left him to his devices. Julian found that he had an unexpected moment to himself, with only the animals to keep him company. Time to take stock, he decided. Take stock of where you were and where you are now, and what exactly had happened in between.

Okay, so: He had meant to check on Asra’s friend who lived in the woods. That was all. Now he was feeding chickens with a wild wolf as his foreman, because they were on their way to set up a bunch of charms and warding spells so the goat monster in the woods, which incidentally was the ghost of the very late Count Lucio turned flesh, couldn’t attack the hut in the middle of the night. And then there had been the evening in the hut, of course, which begged to be considered. Muriel himself had revealed himself to be a man of quiet depths, and an even quieter past. He knew things, very detailed things, it seemed, about a time that was little more than a hazy fainting fit to Julian. That was dizzying to imagine. He flexed the hand by his side. In a way, he felt as if he was standing on a creaking trap door. One wrong move and the thin sheen of pretend reality that kept him aloft would crumble beneath his feet, and he’d plummet into unaccounted darkness. And who’d light a candle for him there? Muriel?

A sigh stole onto his lips. He shouldn’t complain, really. Muriel might just be the key. There were answers he was searching for. Perhaps he had simply hoped that he wouldn’t have to search for the right questions as well. Something was waiting for him, he knew that. Other than a death sentence. Something was sitting in the bowels of Vesuvia, festering in silence, and was waiting for him to find it. And he knew, oh he knew, there was not going to be a hero’s welcome for him anywhere. Whatever was drawing him back here, it would kill him here. Wasn’t it better to be hiding out of sight, in the forest, and breathe fresh clean air instead? And Muriel was… intriguing. He couldn’t even lament the occult and otherworldly aspects of his circumstances now, with the sun shining on his nape and a hen trying to eat his bootlace. It was difficult to catastrophize while feeding chickens.

Muriel soon returned, his hands covered in mulch and wet soil. Julian greeted him by lifting the bag to him which was quickly snatched away. “All set?” He asked him as Muriel went on to give Inanna a pat on the head for a job well done. Julian smirked, “Where is my pat? I did all the work.”

“She managed you.” Came the abrupt reply. Apparently Muriel was starting to come around to the idea that he had to fight fire with fire in Julian’s case, or quip with quip. They packed up rather unceremoniously after that. Inanna simply bounded away, and they left without so much as a parting cluck. Julian trailed after the set of broad fur-clad shoulders for a while, allowing himself to be distracted by stray dragonflies or distant shapes moving through the woods.

“A lot of folks around here depend on you, huh?” He broke the silence with two long strides to catch up with Muriel on the narrow path.

Startled by this sudden interruption of his introversion, Muriel looked down at him. The thought didn’t seem too comfortable for the man. “What do you mean?” He demanded flatly.

“I mean, I see how you take care of the place. Inanna, your chickens.”

“They are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.” Muriel said stiffly. “They don’t need me.”

A smile tugged at Julian’s mouth at the vehement denial, “No? Doesn’t stop you from caring for them, though.”

“I have hands. They don’t. I help them out. That’s all.”

“Okay, and even at the risk of reminding you of your good deeds: Why did you decide to help me? It can’t be my winning charm. I have a feeling it’s not working on you. You could have kicked me out thrice over by now but here I am.”

Now Muriel was tensing up completely. His muscles hardened under the layers of pelts and wool. “You are free to leave.” He rumbled tersely. His voice had retreated so far down into his chest that it sounded more like a growl.

“Sure.” Julian shrugged, determined not to let himself be intimidated. He had seen this guy babytalk a chicken half an hour ago. Mountain man or no, pit fighter or no, he had a feeling he could push his luck a little. “I’m rather interested in why I’m free to stay.”

Inanna had slowed down before them and was glancing over her shoulder. A soft whine hummed in her throat, at the breaking point to a bark. She seemed unwilling to raise her voice in the face of Muriel’s unhappiness with the topic. Julian saw it too. He was about to let up and stop bothering the other but there was a shift in the air between them, then.

“You helped us first. You saved our lives.” Muriel stated blankly. Julian could tell that that admission must have tasted like lead on his tongue. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Anyone else would have done the same.”

“No,” Muriel was quick to shut him down. “No, they would not. You could have died. Not anyone would risk their life for a stranger. I would not.”

Julian opened is mouth to object, to remind him that he could have left him for dead against Lucio last night. But he doubted Muriel wanted to hear about that. He was so wrapped up in this narrative of himself as someone undeserving of kindness and care that it bordered on pretense. No one was this unaware of their own nature if it wasn’t a desired state of mind. What was Muriel punishing himself for?

Julian’s gaze flickered to the bands of forged steel that weighed down his companion’s arms. Again, he saw a hazy memory flash before his inner eye; that same image of two large, blood-soaked hands clutching the hilt of a mean looking executioner’s axe.

“I think you’re capable of being far better than you know.” The doctor’s words were thin in the air. He could say nothing else. There was no magic formula to recite that would ease Muriel’s burden and relieve him of the memories he was dragging around with himself. Julian was burning with curiosity but even he could tell that he’d earn himself a secure seat at the top of Muriel’s personal hit list if he dared to broach the topic so brazenly. It didn’t matter, finally. Whatever Muriel had done, it had nothing to do with the here and now. Old blood. Cold blood. Dead and done. Who didn’t have a couple of skeletons in the basement—

“Julian.” Muriel’s bass reverberated in his skull, shaking him from his grim reverie. He looked up to find the taller man staring back at him, his torso half turned as if frozen in motion. A concerned frown was darkening Muriel’s features. “Watch the path.”

To Julian’s surprise he found that he had wandered halfway into the underbrush. Somehow the forest had managed to shift around him, skewing ever so slightly so that it had steered him right into the thicket.

“Wow, I nearly hugged a tree there.”

“There’s old magic in these woods.” Muriel went on as Julian shuffled back towards him with a bewildered expression. “They like to play tricks. Pay attention and stay close.”

“Can’t let those sons of beeches lead us astray, got it.”

Muriel stared him dead in the eye, unblinking. “Stop.”

Julian ducked his head, tongue in cheek, and made to catch back up to his stony companion.

“What’s that about? Tricks?” Julian was now very focused on sticking close to Muriel. The last thing he needed was to be ensnared by some malevolent dryad, or hoodwinked by a cypress. He was hurrying along, only half a step behind the marching mountain of a man. Muriel tried to lean away from him but there was nowhere else for him to escape to.

“Some people don’t belong in this forest. The trees can tell. The forest protects itself.” Muriel said as he pushed through a fringed curtain of low hanging branches. He bent the wood just so that a passage was made for the two men. The wolf easily slipped past. “Goat monsters aren’t our only concern out here.”

“You know, I nearly forgot about that part. Thanks for the reminder.” Julian felt his shoulders tense. Right. Lucio. He tried not to picture the macabre white shape of the beast lurking behind the tree line and failed spectacularly. His only solace was that if Lucio were nearby, Inanna would have already gone into the defense for sure. She looked relatively relaxed. Her large ears turned every which way as she trotted ahead but nothing seemed to draw her immediate attention. It was perplexing how quickly he had come to accept this wild animal as part of the picture. Julian had always considered himself a dog person, of course, but the she-wolf was a whole other caliber. He hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to be pinned beneath those snarling jaws. Still her presence was reassuring now. He glanced at the back of Muriel’s head. There was no end to who you could grow used to if there was no outside influence to disturb the process.

Muriel eventually stopped his stubborn shambling along in favor of inspecting a marked tree. A small blaze set the oak tree apart from its brethren, but only barely. If Muriel hadn’t paused to run his hand over the notch in the bark, Julian probably wouldn’t have noticed it. He hadn’t lied when he had said that he didn’t know the next thing about magic. The last time he had seen it, truly seen it, being worked before his eyes, it had been a disturbing experience. He could still feel the bite of the knife in the palm of his hand.

“What’s going on?” Julian asked readily, a notable undercurrent of relief rippling through his voice. He shook out his tired feet. They were aching in their boots. He would be counting blisters tonight, no doubt.

“It’s our first stop.” Muriel bent down and fished something out of the tall grass that sprouted up next to the tree trunk. A small amulet was glinting in the dirty palm of his hand. Julian couldn’t make out exactly what it was but the otherworldly shine to it did not pass him by unnoticed. Muriel began to repair the small contraption while murmuring under his breath. It took the doctor a moment to realize that he was chanting.

Despite himself, Julian took a step back. He hardly managed to resist the urge to avert his eyes. He didn’t know if this was what the convention demanded but he figured these were well guarded rites he shouldn’t just ogle at as they were being performed. Julian had watched Asra at times, of course, but every time he had felt like an unwanted intruder, a voyeur fearing detection. Right now, though, he only felt like a less detailed part of a bigger picture. Muriel had not commented on his presence or given it so much as a second thought before he had simply gotten to work on the spell. This should be enough of an indication that he was an accepted part of the scene, foreign as it was to him.

As Muriel’s low muttering went on it took on an entrancing quality, as if it were adopting a melody all its own. The rising tension Julian expected never came. No wind picked up around them, no darkness descended. It felt rather like he was finally taking a deep breath he had been holding out on. Muriel’s magic was not visible to the naked eye, his eye anyway, but he thought he could feel it. It felt verdant and strong, like roots burying into the ground underneath his feet to strengthen the soil. And while that was impressive, he wouldn’t deny it, it also made him a little nervous to imagine that.

Finally, after what felt like a short eternity, Muriel moved again. For such a large guy, he had a surprisingly swift way of about him when he wanted to. He quickly tied the charm onto a twig and left it dangling there. The small construct was composed of whittled wooden pieces and stained-glass shards, rounded at the edges like the sort you’d find at the beach a couple years after a shipwreck. It winked in the sunlight freckling the forest floor. Altogether the charm was very unassuming. He couldn’t understand how it would be able to dissuade Lucio.

“And that’s it? A little mumbo jumbo and we’re good?” Julian asked, trying not to sound too obviously skeptical.

Muriel snorted and readjusted the empty bag over his shoulder. “Yes. That’s it. Were you expecting fireworks?”

“Something in that ballpark.”

Muriel rolled his eyes and Julian was absolutely certain that he had timed it just so that he would get a full view of the expression. There was so much of his personality waiting in the wings for the moment Muriel let his stoic mask drop. It was fascinating to observe how animated his face could be in moments of levity. Admittedly, it only ever moved to express disapproval or dismissal, but Julian was an optimist at heart.

“You wanted to come along.” Muriel reminded him gruffly. “I can do without the running commentary.”

Julian mimed zipping his mouth shut and followed after the other as he went on his way. It quickly became obvious that Muriel’s maintenance work was far from done. There were still a handful of other wards to set back up. The storm had knocked one tree over completely which made the process much more difficult than it needed to be. Each time Muriel stepped aside to repair the charms Julian peeked over his shoulder to catch a bolder glimpse of the arcane machinations at work in Muriel’s protective grasp.

The diligent silence of the procession was grating on Julian’s nerves. Never one too comfortable with quiet, the doctor quickly had to go back on his promising gesture. Muriel was clearly fine with the absence of small talk, but Muriel was no standard. His friends were wolves and chickens. Those hardly required a lot of conversational skills. Not that he thought Muriel would have developed any in human company. He didn’t seem the type.

“What else can you do? Magic-wise, I mean.” He piped back up after Muriel finished merging a shattered amulet back together between his palms. “I’m just wondering because Asra would do all sorts of things. He can move objects with his mind and brew potions and whatnot.”

“I am not Asra.” Came the curt reply. Well, that was a non-starter. Julian was about to say as much but to his surprise Muriel relented without much of a fight. “He taught me some of his magic. I am passable at it but it’s not much. I focus on warding. It’s the most useful. I can move objects with my hands just as well.”

“Fair point,” Julian laughed. “I’m guessing you don’t do tarot, then? I know Asra loves his card tricks.”

Muriel finally deigned to glance back at his companion as they walked. “They’re not card tricks.”

“Oh, come on,” He drawled, delighting in the sudden attention. “You really believe that whole fortune-telling business? He’s obviously making it up as he goes. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Parlor tricks.”

“So you think he is a powerful magician who can curse people,” Muriel said, slowly, to make sure Julian was able to follow. “But you think he needs to resort to parlor tricks.”

“As a means to make money, why not? I mean, it’s the path of least resistance…” The doctor trailed off, unsure of how to sell his argument. Muriel was firmly in Asra’s corner, and surely he was right to be. He figured they had to be friends for some reason. Julian had wanted to be in Asra’s corner as well. “No one can _actually_ tell the future.”

There was a beat of silence, then Muriel said: “I can.”

Julian chuckled uncertainly, surprised by the sudden challenge in the other’s tone. It read like a joke but by now he thought he had figured out that Muriel’s sense of humor, though existent, was more understated than blatant claims to fame.

“Oh, really? Even without the card tricks?” He tried to tease a little more out of the quiet man. It was too tempting not to keep going. Meanwhile Muriel seemed to have realized his mistake. He quickly clammed up again, a flustered look passing over his features as he hurried to avert his eyes.

“I cast runes.” He spoke as one long exhale, as if his exasperation had reached previously unknown dimensions with this simple admission. Julian raised his brows. That was the last thing he had expected to hear. It still sounded hopelessly superstitious, even coming from Muriel with such a grave inflection. But it would suit him, Julian thought. Nothing flashy, nothing that relied on performance. Throw some rocks and watch them scatter, that seemed quite on brand.

“I’ve seen that before.” Julian remarked. “Rune casting, that is. You must know, I was in the prestigious position to study medicine in Prakra. There lived a woman from the South who’d get by, casting runes for coin. She told me I’d meet my demise before I’d get my medical license. I thought she just didn’t like me. Looks like she was right after all.” He laughed dryly.

Muriel grew very still while the doctor spoke. His broad shoulders squared with uncomfortable rigidity. Something dark, almost tragic, sparked in his green gaze. It didn’t pass Julian by unnoticed. He leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of the other’s lowered face.

“You are from the South as well. Correct?”

Muriel didn’t move to deny it. He didn’t move much at all besides the mechanical motions that carried his feet along the winding path. Julian let it sit there, waiting for any response at all. He didn’t think Muriel was trying to freeze him out right now. There was something going inside that skull of his and he needed a moment to grapple with it. Julian could be patient.

As they walked, the air around them changed. The sun had been steadily climbing in the sky, cresting the distant treetops and drinking up the gathered dew. Only in the shades of the heavy-leafed branches the morning chill remained. The aromatic breeze, thick with the scent tree sap and forest earth, shifted. He could smell water. Finally, Muriel said: “I left a long time ago. I don’t remember it.”

“I thought so. You don’t have the accent.”

“You notice too much.” Muriel’s words were interrupted by Inanna suddenly taking off as if stung by a tarantula. The two men startled, each ripped from their personal train of thought, to watch the tail of the wolf disappear among the rustling thickets.

“Shit, is it back? The ghost?” Julian’s gloved hand flew to the blade strapped to his hip. With hindsight he wasn’t sure what he would have hoped to accomplish with it. He had seen the creature. What was his toothpick supposed to do? Tickle it?

“No,” Muriel reached out to stop him. “No, it’s fine. She says we’re there.”

“Where is there?”

Instead of giving him an answer, Muriel pushed on through the bushes, graciously clearing a path for Julian to follow. When they broke through the tree line, Julian was met with a glistening diorama unfolding before him. A large pond lay golden in the afternoon sun, dotted with sea roses and surrounded by beds of moss. Ahead of them, the silhouette of a large dark grey wolf stood with her legs in the water, long tail gently wagging in anticipation. Everything was briefly drenched in a soft glow that seemed the very antithesis to the forest that surrounded them. After the clammy cold the brief interlude of warmth was a welcome change of pace, even for Julian’s southern tastes.

Muriel grimaced against the sudden sunlight and turned to look back at Julian. Their passing glances met, and Muriel paused. An absent expression spread across the dark profile of his face, green eyes wide. The hard line of Muriel’s mouth softened as his lips parted for air. As quickly as the look had appeared, as quickly it vanished again. With a low grumble, Muriel headed off towards Inanna, suddenly in a hurry. Something about that moment rattled Julian. For a second, he had seen Muriel without reserve, without the low growl in the back of his throat. He could barely imagine that Muriel had ever existed without his injuries, his gallery of misgivings and mistrusts. But he had seen it, something entirely unhurt at the center of his passing gaze. Some sort of veil had briefly lifted, allowing him a glimpse of a different man he had never met before.

Whoever that man was, he didn’t want to leave before he was introduced to him.


End file.
